An Exercise in Observation
by elanaciel
Summary: Javert and Valjean are excellent observers. Javert observes Valjean to reveal him for what he is, but eventually he finds he is one who is laid bare. Begins in M-sur-M and traces developments over the years in their relationship and the strange understanding they come to share. Eventual slash and au.


Javert was an expert at observation.

People who wasted time on frivolous pleasures always missed the details. Other inspectors of the department––though he hated to think ill of colleagues––who spent time laughing and joking on the job, drinking wine in the office, and (come night, when they thought no one watched) making sport with whores. Javert knew each of their sins. He needed to know, so he could know what they might miss. What they would invariably fail to see.

So of course he observed how Monsieur Madeleine shifted almost imperceptibly whenever he fixed his eyes on him. And when he noticed this he observed more closely. So closely that he noticed the green colour of the other man's eyes, the way they sparked with life––or was it anger?––when he thought Javert was not watching him. The way they dulled like the shutting of a gate when he met Javert's gaze.

And when he spoke with Javert it was deliberate. Kind, respectful, like all the mayor's dealings with his fellow men. Yet somehow more deliberate. Suggesting restraint…or unease.

The hunter smelled prey.

* * *

It was while he watched the mayor lift the cart that he knew. Somewhere inside the knowledge singed him like flame.

_He is that man._

His eyes narrowed, and Madeleine met his suspicious gaze with practised courtesy.

_Say what you must._

And Javert felt like he stumbled then. The mayor…or the convict? He could not be certain.

_Monsieur, I wouldn't dare._

Better to be falsely humble now than to speak to soon. He would not speak against the mayor. And he would not be a fool before a convict. He would outwatch him and outwit him. A hunter has all the time in the world.

* * *

Yet as he patrolled the streets that night, he paced unseeing. The insight was strong. He has felt it, euphoric _certainty, _the expectation of denouncing a criminal, of hard, swift justice.

Perhaps the desire to rip off the too-perfect mask of monsieur Madeleine.

Sin and grace. Javert acknowledged the later, but he _knew _the former. Knew it in his bones, smelled it in the air, saw it in the eyes of his fellow men. It was repulsive but it was familiar, and since familiar, comfortable.

He glanced sharply when he heard a soft footfall in the dark.

"Good evening Inspector."

It was the mayor.

"Good evening, monsieur le mayor."

Javert did not pause for more than a moment, resuming his steady patrol. The mayor fell into step beside him. Javert's brow crinkled with distaste.

"You are on patrol?" The mayor inquired, the picture of ease with his hands in his pockets.

Javert nodded stiffly.

"And all is well in the city, I trust?"

"It is an unexceptional evening."

"Hmm." The mayor hummed in approval, a sound of content which set Javert's teeth on edge. He half-expected the mayor to begin making small-talk about the weather. He had been able to make an entertainment of counting how many seconds of his silence it took before one of his colleagues––superiors or inferiors, they were the same in this respect––made a fool of themselves by picking some inane conversation topic because they could not stand his silence.

Javert was almost disappointment with the mayor remained silent, walking easily beside him as if they were old friends.

"Do you often walk at this hour?" Javert heard himself saying, nearly cursing under his breath.

He had started a conversation. A small, stubborn (and if he was honest, childish) part of himself whispered that he'd lost. Madeleine spared him a small sideways smile, almost as if he guessed the direction Javert's thoughts had turned.

"Quite often." the mayor replied. "If find it refreshing. And besides––" he glanced at Javert again. "With such a diligent head of police, I am assured of my safety."

Javert grimaced.

"I do only my duty, monsieur." he thought his annoyance well-concealed, but it must have showed somehow, because Madeleine chuckled softly.

"My apologies. I know you have no need for pointless compliments. Duty, like goodness, is its own reward, am I right?"

"You would know as well as I." Javert replied, almost testily. "You do enough good works."

"Are you cross with me for that?" Madeleine inquired, fixing Javert with a cryptic expression.

"Certainly not. It is not my place to have any opinion on your management of this town."

"I do not think so." Madeleine rejoined. "I am always glad to hear any man's opinion. They are all valuable to me."

"Am I to be honoured then, when I know you would value a common labourer's opinion equal to mine?" Javert replied sardonically. Surprise flashed through him that he'd said that out loud, and a sting of trepidation. He glanced at the mayor. Those gentle, green eyes looked back at him, an odd, knowing look in them.

The eyes were kind. They seemed to say _I see you. I understand_ _you. _Javert bristled, but said nothing. They did not look like the eyes of a convict. Certainly not a convict he had held the lash over.

But Javert felt a rush of anticipation as he imagined if they _were _the eyes of that convict. _Then _Javert would have the upper hand. Then _he _would be the one who understood, who exposed the other man with the knowledge in his gaze.

"I certainly respect your opinion much more than a common labourer's, inspector."

The mayor's voice seeped earnestness. His eyes, the lines of his face…

Javert turned away. He did not know what he saw when he looked at the other man, but he knew he did not want to keep looking. He wanted to be far away.

"I will take my leave, inspector." the mayor said, almost softly. "Good night."

"Good night, monsieur le mayor."

Javert watched the mayor's shoulders as he walked away, and let out a breath he didn't know he had held. He did not know how long he stood still, before continuing his patrol.


End file.
